"Stop, don't say that, my darling, my sweetheart!" I called out, kissing her knees, and tears ran in streams from my eyes, — tears of love and ecstasy.
When, after such a scene, I came up-stairs and stood in my wadded cloak before the holy images, what a wonderful feeling I experienced at the words, "Preserve, O Lord, father and mother!" When, in such moments, I repeated the prayers which my childish lips for the first time lisped after my beloved mother, my love for her and my love for God were strangely mingled in one feeling.
After the prayer I rolled myself into my coverlet, and my heart felt light and cheerful. One dream chased another, — but what were they about? They were intangible, but filled with pure love and hope for bright happiness. I thought of Karl Ivánovich and his bitter fate, — of the only man whom I knew to be unhappy, and I felt so sorry for him, and so loved him, that the tears gushed from my eyes, and I thought: God grant him happiness, and me an opportunity of helping him, and alleviating his sorrow; I was ready to sacrifice everything for him. Then I stuck my favourite china toy, — a hare or a dog, — into the corner of the down pillow, and I was happy seeing how comfortable and snug the toy was there. I also prayed the Lord that He would give happiness to everybody, and that all should be satisfied, and that to-morrow should be good weather for the outing, and then I turned on my other side, my thoughts and dreams became mixed and disturbed, and I fell softly, quietly asleep, my face wet with tears.
Will that freshness, carelessness, need of love, and strength of faith, which one possesses in childhood, ever return? What time can be better than that when all the best virtues, — innocent merriment and limitless need of love, — are the only incitements in life?
Where are all those ardent prayers, where is the best gift — those tears of contrition? The consoling angel
